In the last two months, I have thought about phenology and life cycles of plants more than I ever have.
Thinking about this has encouraged me to ponder my own life. For the past two decades, I have strictly adhered to a seemingly endless cycle: school, a break from school, back to school, back to a break, back to school… In this process, I faced challenges and I grew, but I remained entrapped in the rhythm. Then, at long last, the cycle was broken on May 18th of this year when I graduated from Louisiana State University.
From days in lecture halls and final exams to endless hours in the foothills and on the peaks of grand mountains, from suffocating humidity to bone dry heat, and from living in a metropolitan area to one with a population of just about 3,000—I had stepped into a whole new world.
Each day that I go to the field, especially in the burn scars that are too abundant around me, I see this reflected in the surrounding plant communities. Environmental events, such as fires, strip much of an area, leaving surviving rhizomes, seeds, and plants in a completely unfamiliar place. Still, many plants persist and reemerge, effectively encouraging the propagation of the traits most suited to survival.
One plant, in particular, comes to mind. This is Carpentaria californica, a shrub endemic to a select few sites in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada—all in the Sierra National Forest. It thrives in the aftermath of fire, primarily reproducing from stump sprouts after burning. The plant can grow each year, abiding by these cycles, but a radical environmental change is necessary for its significant growth. I can empathize with C. californica as I navigate a completely novel environment.
The botany crew using a drone to map Carpenteria californica!
The beginning of my season here marked my first time in the Sierra Nevada, my first time working in a National Forest, and my first time working a real field botany job. I was forced to become familiar with the flora of the Sierra quickly, and I just as rapidly fell in love with it.
One of my favorite plants I’ve come across in my time here: Cypripedium montanum.
That which I have learned about seeds and seed collecting is especially important to me. Seed collecting has proven to be incredibly rewarding; I am overjoyed that my work will one day contribute to the revegetation of this place that I have come to adore. Each day, I work with unbelievable views of the Sierra Nevada, familiarizing myself with a new population of plants that plays the most vital part in this process. Each of these populations are so unique, with different abundances, densities, and environments, not to mention the fascinatingly divergent anatomies of their plants and seeds. I never know quite what to expect when I set out to assess or collect from a population, and each requires much thought and discussion.
Recently, my co-intern, Emma, and I collected from large populations of the native grasses Elymus glaucus and Bromus sitchensis variety carinatus. The next week, we approached a new population of these plants, separated by only a couple of miles, to find radically different population specifications. Even more distinct was the population of Lupinus microcarpus variety densiflorus that we had collected a couple weeks prior. The environments and seeds could not be any more dissimilar to the ones that we would discover when navigating those grasses.
Collecting seeds from Lupinus microcarpus……and cleaning the seeds!
With each seed I collect, I think about their capacity to repopulate barren environments, and I revisit my thoughts of Carpentaria californica. Just as this plant thrives with a big change in a new environment, so do I. Being in a new place doing new things has taught me so, so much. I have grown as a person and as a botanist, and I can’t wait to keep on learning in this incredible place.
Filled with excitement and nerves, embarking on this journey had me filled with a concoction of feelings. I was to return to my home state and have my first taste of my desired career. Although I had made many amazing new friends during the CLM training at the Chicago Botanic Garden, I quickly realized how much I would be learning this season. I encountered feelings of doubt and imposter syndrome as we attempted to key out dried flowers. With no formal botany experience or education, I began questioning whether I knew enough about botany to be a successful seed collector. In the few weeks between the training in Chicago and my arrival in the Chugach National Forest, I prepared myself to acquire a plethora of new knowledge. Foraging throughout my life had nurtured a connection with many native plant species, but I only knew them by their nicknames (common names). These first two weeks back in Alaska have been a whirlwind of learning and reconnection. After being away from Alaska, returning to the land and the landscape I love has been grounding and exciting. It’s like reuniting with an old friend.
Week One
During my first week, I spent a lot of time completing online training for the Forest Service, much of which was your typical large agency type stuff. A few Alaska-specific pieces of training rang of nostalgia: the bear safety training and boating training. Not a single day was spent exclusively chugging away at required training, though. On day one, my field partner, Maggie, and I visited a potential collection site for scouting. I quickly learned how niche much of my plant knowledge was and how little I knew about the plants that occur on this side of Cook Inlet. I spent several summers studying species that occur in muskeg land as a guide in my little free time, but this was a new ball game. She was kind enough to guide me through the resources she had been using and patiently guided me through much of the jargon.
Aquilegia formosa littered the sides of the Ptarmigan Creek trail on day one.
The next day, we spent a few hours IDing some plants in the field with our Forest Service mentor. On our journey, we stumbled upon an old friend – drosera rotundifolia in a muskeg surrounded by peat moss, a few patches of cotton grass, and a few orchids. Finally- I am home.
Drosera rotundifolia, my favorite plant that is often found in a muskeg.
Wednesday was an inspiring day. I spent half the day shadowing my mentor and learning about the processes the Forest Service goes through to start a new project. So many experts are involved: archeologists, botanists, wildlife ecologists, parks and recreation specialists, engineers, and hydrologists! (I am sure I am missing a few as well.) Witnessing their conversation and collaboration drew me in.
The second half of the day was spent meeting the restoration site, to which much of the seeds we collect this season will contribute. I enjoyed witnessing the conversations between experts and how many people are involved in a project of that magnitude. The Resurrection Creek restoration project is in its second phase, and WOW, is it a big one. Seventy-four acres of riparian habitat are being restored in this project as they return the creek to a meandering, salmon-bearing system. I was privileged to meet and witness the SCA interns watering and maintaining the willows and sedges that have already been planted as part of the restoration project.
Several species waiting for their turn to find their new homes at the Resurrection Creek restoration site. Many of these were grown from seeds collected by last year’s CLM interns.
We dedicated much of Thursday to intimately getting to know the Chugach National Forest Herbarium as Maggie and I filed away vouchers from last year’s interns. Filing the vouchers allowed me to learn more about the taxonomy of many plants that I had previously only known the common names of and an opportunity to practice saying some whacky Latin names.
Herbarium voucher of Lupinus nootkatensis, one of our priority species for seed collection, collected by last year’s CLM interns.
We dove deeply into new references and keys with our mentor on Friday. We had more sources than I could have dreamed of!
Week one was a whirlwind of learning, excitement, and reconnections with my roots. While a significant portion of my time was spent in front of a computer, the other half was a thrilling journey of learning new plants, receiving invaluable advice from my mentor, and establishing a harmonious working relationship with my field partner. The excitement of learning was palpable and inspiring. I savored my free time visiting harbors full of nostalgia and hiking new trails, each step reinforcing my connection to the environment.
Week Two
Week two was full of adventure and connection. The work days were primarily spent in the field, scouting and practicing keying plants (mostly sedges). The evenings were spent connecting with new friends and bonding with my co-intern. We learned about all the exciting gadgets and tools we will use for collection, such as a seed sorting machine, which will help us efficiently clean the seeds we collect, and a funky seed collection tool, essentially a modified weed whacker designed to collect seeds rapidly. I can not wait to dive deeper and play with those later in the season!
So far, my favorite day of the season occurred that Tuesday and was full of spontaneous experiences. We were invited along on a Dall Sheep survey that morning, and again, I experienced nostalgia as we ventured out by boat on Kenai Lake- one of my favorite water systems to go out in. We were greeted by beautiful weather and several sheep on the cliffside. We witnessed the incredible blue glacial waters of Kenai Lake shine in the sunlight from shore while practicing plant ID and looking for Rams along the mountainside. We were out in the field for the second half of the workday, where we successfully keyed out a tricky sedge!! What a gratifying experience that was! That evening, after clocking out, we were invited to kayak and cold plunge on the other end of Kenai Lake with some new friends, and yet again, I felt at home on the water. These spontaneous experiences, from the unexpected sheep survey to the impromptu kayaking trip, not only added excitement to my days but also deepened my connection to the environment and the people around me.
Spotting dall sheep.Kayaking on Kenai Lake.Finding one of my old friends, cotton grass, out in the field.
Each day has been a new experience filled with new knowledge, a deeper connection to my home state, and new connections with people who make me feel more at home than I ever have in Alaska. The imposter syndrome I felt at the beginning of this journey has been soothed by a profound sense of belonging and a yearning to learn and experience more. I can’t wait to see what else is in store this season, and I’m excited to share this journey with you.
The primary goal I came into this internship with was to delve deeper into the role that native seed systems are playing within the greater context of restoration efforts both in Alaska and in the greater US. Investigating various types and methods of restoration has been of central focus of my work and studies for a while now. Over the past couple years I’ve been curious about what native seeds systems look like on the ground, how people are implementing them, and how they are building them out. Personally, I can’t help but think at the systems level; a wide angled, zoomed out view of the integrated whole. Therefore, when I’m learning small details I tend to draw them to the larger context to make sense of them within the greater whole. Therefore, within the subject of native seed systems, I’m constantly thinking about how they play into greater restoration projects and methods, and how they fit within some of the most pressing global issues of our time like climate change, widespread extinction rates, and deeply embedded social injustices.
Late night nearing the solstice on the shores of Kenai Lake
I was able to steep within these questions and contexts during the first couple of weeks of my internship. My position is based in the Chugach National Forest in Moose Pass, AK, and I work out of the Kenai Lake Work Center. The setting is quite stunning: old rugged snow capped mountains that fall into the sea. The interior of the Kenai Peninsula is dappled with many alpine lakes, most of aqua hue. Some of the rivers run the same color. I arrived in time to see the snow still reigning in the alpine areas (over 800 inches fell here last winter) and exactly as the red salmon began to run. As I write now, two weeks later, it is the day after the summer solstice and everything has awakened and is thirsting for life. Since the summer seasonal window is so much shorter here than the lower 48, the summers really come in a burst of life that makes you come fully and wildly alive too. I feel like a child again, refusing to sleep because I don’t want to miss a thing.
The history of this place, and context of the restoration project where our seed collecting efforts are being funneled, are wrapped within the raw elements that initially formed this unique environment and make this area so awe-inspiring. 65 million years ago when the Kenai Mountains were formed, gold formed load deposits within the rocks during its crystallization. Due to the weathering and then the glacial formation about 2 million years ago, the gold was further dispersed. When the glaciers melted, starting about 12,000 years ago and continues to accelerate today, streams especially reworked and uncovered the dispersed placer gold, or gold that has been separated from sand or gravel due to erosion and weathering. The seemingly disconnected presence of gold on the Kenai Peninsula is the underlying impetus for our seed gathering this season. This is because our seed collection is for a riparian restoration project on US Forest Service land that is within an active mining claim.
Resurrection creek valley.
The site of the mining and restoration project is on Resurrection Creek on the Northern coast of the Kenai Peninsula, just outside of a small town called Hope, AK. This river runs into the sea at the Turnagain Arm and is critical spawning and rearing habitat for a keystone species of this region: salmon. Chinook, coho, chum, and pink all used to run this river. But during the gold rush of the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, miners significantly altered stream channels and wetlands of the creek to the extent that it decimated salmon habitat and populations there. In the early 2000’s, the first USFS restoration project on this mining claim, referred to as “Phase I” took place. This portion of the project restored a 1.5 mile stretch of the creek to mimic a more natural flow by digging new stream channels which meander, creating pools and side channels, as well as ponds and wetland areas with the intent to create an environment where salmon can run, rest, and spawn once again. The results were quite successful and almost immediate. A year afterward, Chinook salmon numbers increased six-fold, and have only continued to increase. Pink and chum salmon have also returned. During Phase I of this project, the area was largely allowed to revegetate naturally, alongside some monitoring and minimal necessary treatments towards more aggressive invasive plant species that arose. Twenty years after the implementation of Phase I, the restoration of the riparian native plant community has been largely successful, alongside the restoration of the salmon.
The project that our seed collection efforts this summer will be contributing to is the second portion of this restoration project along Resurrection Creek, deemed “Phase II.” This phase is an additional 2.7 miles of stream downstream from Phase I to be restored in a similar manner and for the same purposes. The only difference this time is that this project must be done by standards set by the Army Corp of Engineers. Due to these standards, the USFS is required to revegetate the restoration area with a certain percentage of wetlands and needs to achieve 75% vegetative cover in the restoration site within 5 years. Given the barrenness of the site and quality of ground material present there now, this seemed like quite a lofty goal to me. But with all challenges acknowledged, these are where our efforts come in.
The worksite is in a beautiful location, surrounded by mountains. The river is spectacular and raging this time of year.Resurrection Creek, a portion along the Phase II restoration site.This is what the new stream bed channel looks like before the water is rerouted to flow through it. The day after I took this photo, we came back and there was a raging river flowing here.
The first day I went to the site, I couldn’t believe how devoid of life it felt and looked, nor the enormity of the project. Although the force and beauty of the river were present and its wildly meandering movement had been restored, the barren, compact gravel substrate covering the river’s banks and flood plains following its reconstruction made my stomach churn. It was a gray moonscape, without a drop of green. We walked the site and saw where the future river would flow. Not only were enormous amounts of earth and rocks being moved and molded, but we walked down the restoration site for maybe about a mile and it seemed to stretch on and on. It was truly incredible the lengths to which this project is going to restore habitat for salmon, as well as other species. My advisor, Peter, pointed out areas of vegetation downstream filled with native riparian species, like horsetail, that we could salvage out of the future river’s path to be transplanted in areas where they could continue to thrive if the transplanting worked. The project was exciting, interesting, and complex, but needless to say, it felt quite daunting. This was our garden, but instead rich topsoil, we had nutrient poor gravel and instead of well versed cultivars, we had particular, finicky, yet resilient wild seeds and transplants.
Later that week, Peter and I took two trips to Anchorage to pick up over 7,000 native plant starts to be planted at the restoration project this summer. These were grown from the seeds that Chicago Botanic Garden interns had collected the previous season here in the Chugach. The transplants were grown by the Soil and Water Conservation Districts centralized in Anchorage. When we arrived to pick up the plants, it was a circus of volunteers carrying large flats of plants you usually don’t see grown as plugs. The regular gardener might not have been very impressed as many of the plants weren’t as showy as you usually expect to see grown in a cultivated manner. But to the seasoned eye, this was something extra special. Native sedges and grasses that are particular and finicky about their growing conditions and habits were big, bushy, and beautiful. Carex mertensii, carex aquatalis, carex canascens; flats of sedges that you typically only see growing in the wild, had emerged rapidly after being cold stratified and were anxiously waiting to get to their new home. The managers and volunteers were very excited about the gift that they had grown as well. I learned that much of it had been trial and error, as so many of these species had no previous protocol on how to be grown from seed. It was quite the puzzle loading the plants in the trailer and carting them 2 hours southwest to the restoration site. But almost all of them made the journey, and there was a SCA (Student Conservation Association) crew there ready to plant and water them over the next couple of months as they get established in their new home along the river at the restoration site.
Around 5,000 native plant transplants loaded in the trailer, ready to take to the restoration site.Transplants once they arrived at the restoration site, featuring Nootka Lupine.How we stored the wetland species at the restoration site before they could be planted – they perked right up with their roots in fresh moving water!
Later that week I helped plant these transplants into a makeshift wetland area. A few weeks previously, thousands of willow stakes had been planted around the terrestrial perimeter of the future wetland. These stakes were already beginning to bud. Below the stakes, where slow moving water met muck, we planted several sedges and a forb including carex mertensii (Merten’s Sedge), carex aquatilis (Water Sedge), and Mimulus guttatus (Monkey Flower). I’ve spent seasons working on farms and planting gardens, but I had never planted in the muck before. Surprisingly, it was incredibly enjoyable and satisfying. A feeling of gratification swept over me afterwards when I got to see a previously gray and brown mudscape promisingly carrying dapples of bright green life.
Willow mats, planted along a future wetland, beginning to bud.
It was captivating to think about how the species we just planted on the landscape might exist and maybe even thrive and adapt there for potentially hundreds or thousands of years to come. It felt strange to play such a powerful role in the future of a landscape like that, though. We were shaping and cultivating the foundation of an ecosystem. Something about that felt like we were wielding too much power and control. But simultaneously, the feeling that came after planting those riparian species caught me off-guard. Whether that was because my actions were truly beneficial to the ecosystem at large or simply because I perceived them to be, I’m not sure. But it was surprising that such a seemingly small action could have such a palpable and positive impact on my spirit. Because of the scale and complexity of environmental and social issues we face in the world today, I am deeply critical about the actual and longterm effects that restoration projects have in an area. But I must admit that I felt cautiously hopeful after the planting…maybe humans can have a truly beneficial impact on their surroundings, I thought. Maybe this is an example of it.
One thing I can say for sure is that after planting native sedges and grasses in Resurrection Creek, I suddenly felt an incredibly deep connection with, and a building sense of care for the wellbeing of this place and ecosystem. I felt ready and inspired to begin getting to know these native plants on a more intimate level, and to start gathering their seeds for the future foundation of this ecosystem.
Wetland area prior to planting.Native sedges being planted in the future wetland.The first planted portion of the wetland – note the dapples of green that were previously not present.
June has been filled with many learning experiences including plant ID, habitat assessments, surveys, and scouting. The first several weeks consisted of a crash course on Habitat Assessment Frameworks (HAFs). These are super interesting because they were originally used for surveying Sage Grouse habitat but have since been adapted to map out native species, invasive species (cheat grass), and sagebrush cover.
Our first pollinator survey, adoringly referred to as a “Bee Blitz”, occurred in the 3rd week of the month as we looked for the elusive B. morrisoni. The pollinator surveys definitely got a bit competitive as people split up to collect a variety of specimens.
Spending time in the Big Hole Battlefield was probably one of my favorite projects that we have worked on so far. Spending time and camping out in an area of historical significance while getting great views and surveying the rare Lemhi Penstemon is definitely a project to remember moving forward with this field season.
After taking this position I knew it would be hard on both my brain and my body. During the weeks leading up to my first day, I was only thinking about learning complex scientific names or the labor of pulling out invasives. I never thought to stop and think about the opportunity I was given, that nature would become my office. The hot sunny days and bug swarms leave me unbothered as I think about my break room being a riverbed, my cubicle a mountaintop, and my commute a forest lined trail. Do not be fooled, everyday is hard work (lots of sweat) but its rewarding and beautiful. I hope I can give some of my favorite spots the justice they deserve so you can enjoy them too!
Slide creek Falls:
Slide creek falls viewed by other Umpqua National Forest Botany Interns
Just a short drive in, off of OR-138 you come upon this beautiful horsetail falls. It spills into a small blue pool. The spray gives life to the moss, ferns, and other little flowers you find there. You perch yourself on the ridge as your friends work their way to a log. You break out a snack and sit in silence. Now you’re trying your hardest to take in every moment, to be able to remember every detail, to be able see it even after you leave.
Twin Lakes:
View of one of the Twin Lakes
A few miles into the forest you reach a trailhead. It seems particularly normal, so you go down the 1.25 mile trail to the pair of lakes on your map. It only takes a few minutes of climbing before you reach a plateau. You look out to your right and see Mt. Bailey with her snow capped peak off in the distance. You pause, instantly feeling small. You stand there thinking it’s time for a water break, maybe more for the view than the actual need for rest. As you move on you spot a blooming trillium and a little lady bug (you have to take the time to count her spots!!). You realize how big and impactful your presence is. Further down a lean-to hints that you have reached your destination. Soon you see the lake’s crystal clear water. It only takes a few seconds before you spot your first fish. The gentle wind feels cool on your skin and all you can do is be present and smile.
In just a couple of weeks you have visited numerous awe-inspiring places. As I continue to work and explore this national forest I try to see the beauty around every corner. Time is truly fleeting but my memories of the Umpqua will stay with me forever.
Being at Midewin National Tallgrass Prairie the past month has been a beautiful experience and I’m stoked to continue this journey. Growing up all my life only about 30 minutes north of here I was shocked that I had never heard about this place until just less than a couple of years ago. The prairie is such an intoxicating space of biodiversity and natural ecology running its course. The plethora of colors and smells as you walk through the ever growing tall matrix of forbs and grasses, most of which has been rapidly growing taller and taller within the last few hot summer weeks.
Sand Ridge on the west side of Midewin.
I am super grateful to have had this opportunity to put work into something truly rewarding for myself, others, and the environment. All across the world we deal with ecosystems struggling for stability due to development and agriculture. More recently within the last year, learning native plants has been an eye-opener. Driving down streets I used to think were beautiful due to the oceans of green around me now I see degradation and a lack of native vegetation, a heavy reminder of how severe this issue really is. Now I see areas that are graveyards of past fauna and flora of this land, truly realizing the scale of degradation of the natural ecosystem of my home state. Nonetheless, there is hope. Parts of Midewin serve as a sanctuary for what Illinois should look like, or will look like, providing habitat for a variety of plants and animals.
Touching the leaf of Silphium terebinthinaceum (Prairie Dock), the leaf feels cold to the touch due to the xylem plant tissue pumping cold water through the leaf, the tap root of this Silphium can grow longer than 14 feet deep!!Midewin CLM Crew! Grateful to be working with passionate, dedicated, and knowledgeable native seed collectors. Opuntia cespitosa (Eastern Pricklypear) growing on a area of exposed Dolomite bedrock, this rare unique ecosystem is called the Dolomite Prairie and it is home to some pretty special native plants
Even though most prairies in Illinois deal a lot with invasive species it in turn causes native plants to be precious gemstones of the prairie. We have to be grateful for what we have left and look forward to the future of protecting these plants and natural areas and spreading the scientific ecological message through compassion and understanding. Midewin is unique in the sense of conservation due to most of the project being a complete reconstruction. It is true there are remnant “ scraps” ( Soil tilled over and moved) that contain a native seed bank. But for the most part Midewin is a restoration project, so most of the native plants there have been seeded in since the late 90s.
Platanthera leucophaea (Prairie White Fringed Orchid)Silphiumlaciniatum (Compass Plant) and Eryngium yuccifolium (Rattlesnake Master)
Midewin was home to pre colonial indigenous tribes, then it was plowed when settlers moved westward. Then in the 1940s the government bought out all the property and made it the Joliet Arsenal which was active up until the end of the Vietnam war. Midewin land has had so many lives run their course in its presence and I think the land carries all of this with it both physically and metaphorically. In Illinois less than 0.01% of the original 21 million acres of prairie remains, less than 2,300 acres. On the bright side, since 1996 Midewin members of the forest service, partner organizations and volunteer groups have been able to restore roughly 6,000 acres of native vegetation, this includes tall grass prairies, sedge meadows, a variety of wetlands, a sand ridge, and oak savannas. It is such a satisfying feeling going into work for the day knowing what you are doing is making a positive impact outside of a profit incentive. I understand that the prairie and wetlands here are not going to look like they did 400 years ago but I think restoration is truly a positive step in the right direction with the right planning and ecological intentions, always asking questions and having awareness of the long term effect of influencing the natural world.
Dalea purpurea (Purple Prairie Clover) leaves have a very ocean salt like smell to themEpargyreus clarus (Silver-Spotted Skipper)Amorpha canescens (Lead Plant)Desmanthus illinoensis (Illinois Bundleflower/Prairie Mimosa)Dalea purpurea (Purple Prairie Clover)
“The vastness of the grasslands inspires the openness of spirit”…
This seductive, ecophilic line echoes through my mind every time I lift my head from my work. Laying on my tummy, eyes immersed in the damp understory of the prairie, the sudden panorama of the grasslands stretching for miles around me keeps catching me off guard. At the horizon, Paha Sapa (the Black Hills) border our Hay Canyon research site, and the sedimentary formations of Mako Sica (the Badlands) border Cedar Pass. The effect of this setting on the nervous system is immense- I remember to breathe, I’m filled with gratitude, I feel myself smile. My coworkers and I echo to one another, “it is so beautiful here….”
Paha Sapa (the Black Hills) border the horizon of the Hay Canyon research site in Buffalo Gap National Grasslands. The mixed-short-grass prairie is dominated by yellow sweet clover (Melilotus officinalis).
I’ve thought a lot about the experience of wonder in everyday life while working here. Wonder in the everyday has been a growing theme for me over the last five years exploring the shores of Gitchi Gami (Lake Superior), and now living in Paha Sapa. Growing up, before I realized I could make a career in the outdoors, such experiences of wonder were novel. Visiting Paha Sapa and Mako Sica as a pre-teen with my family came in the form of a packaged vacation experience, complete with Mt. Rushmore and Devil’s Tower voyeurism and starkly colonial narratives. These trips of course contained stunning views and showcased feats of human and nature’s ingenuity, but always ended with a return to the ugly, concrete smothered suburbs of home, and the immersive wonders of nature would soon fall from my mind.
This last week, working solo in the field for 7 hours a day snipping and sorting grass culms, I listened to the audiobook of “The Body Keeps the Score” by B. van der Kolk, M.D. This book is about how trauma shapes our brains and bodies. Van der Kolk explains the disassociation that defines trauma; how our brain’s alarm systems become overwhelmed by incomprehensible stress, beyond our range of biological tolerance, resulting in permanent changes to our physiological functions. The experience of wonder is fascinating to compare- Similarly to trauma, wonder occurs when our experience is beyond what our brains can tolerate and what our minds have frameworks for. Both trauma and wonder occur as an involuntary surrender to incomprehensible experience. Neuroscience explains how both states stimulate the vagus nerve and the same areas of the brain, but in different ways; the effects on the body and spirit seem to be opposite.
Trauma creates a constant sense of danger and helplessness, trapping us in an over-active self-preservation mode that weakens our immune systems and internal functioning. It transforms our worlds into small, self-centered ones where we are in opposition to all. Wonder also transforms the way we see ourselves, making us small, but this occurs in a quiet, humble way. We feel small because the world around us is so grand, mysterious, and deliciously incomprehensible. We are struck by the sense that we are a tiny yet integral part of a greater whole. This connection to the Other and the All fosters peace within our minds and bodies, makes connection to others not only possible, but a driving and undeniable force of life. I see myself reflected in each flower, insect, lichen, cloud, and breeze.
Working outdoors and in ecological fields gifts me with wonder daily, though this is something I’ve had to work hard to access. Studies show that one of the prime ways humans experience wonder is in the moral beauty of others. Growing up, the philosophy of life on earth was presented to me in a “man vs. nature” way, the moral ugliness of which fostered misanthropy. I saw all the ways we interacted with nature as destructive and extractive, as if our role on this planet was antagonistic and hopeless. But education and commitment to ecological study requires in-depth understandings of land-management policy and guiding moral philosophies across time and different cultures. It reveals the multitudes of ways humans have co-existed with and stewarded this planet and our fundamental connection and roles in our home ecosystems.
We work with two Doctors of plant science. I collect such mentors gratefully, learning about how to exist sustainably in this work and taking note of the inspirations and drive of different personalities committed to land stewardship. The quiet confidence and gratitude in one another’s work is reassuring. Working along these professionals is an important reminder that as individuals and as a species, humans have always found life-sustaining meaning and relation to the plants around us. We are no less dependent on them physically and spiritually today than our ancestors were. The moral beauty of these understandings, guided largely by Indigenous wisdom, yet present in all humans, guides my daily experience and often leaves me at a loss for words- pure awe in the wonder of it all.
It started off innocuous enough. Shin high fields of green forbs, speckled with yellow inflorescences, grasses still peaking through their canopy. It was not long until I realized their true nature. Melilotus officinalis, or yellow sweet clover, an old enemy from my time in the tallgrass prairies of Iowa, more a nuisance than anything. Here in Buffalo Gap National Grassland, SD, they reign supreme, fed on the rains of last year, granting them the strength to dominate these vast fields.
RMRS technician Bella overlooks our plots as we learn about the plants of the northern mixed-grass prairie.
Before we knew it, it seemed to swallow us up as it grew ever upward, the scent of honey thickening the air into a strange gaseous syrup. The M. officinalis stood at chest height with us, and as we ducked beneath its canopy to observe the rest of the plants hiding beneath it, we entered new worlds. A cover survey became a bushwhack through this seasonal midwestern jungle. Stem counts became a dive beneath vegetative waves. No step could be made without the fear of crushing the clover which enveloped our research plots. Their dominance does seem to be waning though, as the dry heat of the summer begins to transform them into brittle husks of their previous selves. And with this desiccation, I see hope, though I fear for the health of the other plants which have lived under the iron fist of sweet clover this year.
The team performs cover surveys.Peaking over at Badlands National Park from one of our research sites.
It is hard to believe that I have already been here in South Dakota for a month and half! My time here has felt like a whirlwind of change. In May I walked across a stage and received my Bachelor’s degree, and early the next morning I took off on my own in my hastily packed car, my course set for the Black Hills. From there, I hit the ground running at the Rocky Mountain Research Station in Rapid City, SD, training with the other seasonals on my team. A first-aid class, Forest Service driver’s license, and crash course in local plant ID later, and we were off to the field.
Our work takes us out of the hills into the fields of Buffalo Gap National Grassland where we hope to determine the effects of varying seasonal drought conditions and grazing on the the growth, physiology, and diversity of the mixed-grass prairie. When we are asked what we do, we have taken to telling people that we are trying to make sure that the cows, bison, and grazing wildlife have food each year. Which we are often reminded of as rancher’s cattle watch us from the distance. Most days are spent with our heads near the ground as we identify, count, and measure the various species which make up the grassland community. If you could not tell by my little introduction, this community is currently uncharacteristically dominated by M. officinalis, whose first-year seedlings last year benefitted from a rather wet season, resulting in the explosion of yellow we now see.
A herd of bison remind me that traffic in Custer State Park is not always wheeled.
I don’t spend all of my time hanging out in the grasslands though, as I live nearly smack dab in the middle of the Black Hills. In fact, my backyard is literally the Black Hills National Forest! A short walk out my back door and I am lost in slopes of ponderosa pines, a perfect escape when I need a little bit of space from the ever-present tourists who come to see Mount Rushmore, which is also only about 20 minutes from my house.
What I was not expecting though, was that one of the most striking features here would be the consistently picturesque clouds which form over the Hills. Each day seems to produce an uniquely beautiful cloud formation for us, though I am still learning what each is trying to tell us about the weather at that moment, as my now hail-dimpled car can tell you from experience. All the same, the rock formations here, which could often be described as cathedral-like in their own right, are often overshadowed by the vast mountains of water vapor which are built above them. I feel bad waxing poetically about them when there is still the Hills themselves to talk about properly, but there are still more blog posts to make, so I am sure I will get to it.
Black Elk Peak, which we had just climbed, crowned in the characteristically beautiful clouds of the Black Hills.
I am already thankful to be able to spend another season out in the field, and I am looking forward to continuing to learn from the rest of my time here with the RMRS!
Beginning work on a new project can be intimidating. Whether it is learning the rhythm of a new team, the native species in a new region, or just finding the right folks you need to talk to in a new office. However, that was far from the case beginning my work here at the San Bernardino National Forest (SBNF).
Day #1
My first week at the SBNF involved working alongside members from the Wilderness Volunteers, an organization providing volunteer opportunities to conserve America’s wild lands through collaboration with the US Forest Service, National Park Service, the BLM, US Fish & Wildlife, and others. It was, in my opinion, an excellent introduction as I was able to learn alongside the volunteers some of the processes involved in greenhouse management and restoration site maintenance. Myself, and the volunteers, got to see the journey native plants take as they transition from seed, to small yellow bullet nursery pots, to larger black bullet nursery pots, and eventually to outplants that are used in re-vegetating sites throughout the SBNF with the aim of establishing native populations in fire scar areas as well as areas degraded by invasive species and unauthorized OHV (off-highway vehicle) usage. I felt like I was watching the process through similar eyes as the volunteers; fascinated by California’s diverse and beautiful native species as well as the highly controlled protocols followed by the SBNF when growing and handling them. These strategies are in place to prevent the spread of the water-borne pathogen Phytophthora (responsible for root rot and other nasty plant infections) from the greenhouse to the wild populations we aim to protect and restore. Some of the species we handled on that first day in the greenhouse include: Rubber rabbitbrush (Ericameria nauseosa), Big sagebrush (Artemisia tridentata), and Scarlet bugler (Penstemon centranthifolius).
Myself (left) alongside one of the Wilderness Volunteers transplanting seedlings which have outgrown their yellow nursery pots into larger black bullet nursery pots. (Photo by the Wilderness Volunteers)
Day #2
After spending day #1 getting our fingers dirty in sterile potting soil, day #2 and day #3 had us trek to actual restoration sites in the SBNF. Both sites were located near my new home away from home, one of the Forest Service cabins in Lake Arrowhead, CA. Therefore, I got to start my days with a short morning walk through the Manzanitas and yellow pines from the cabin to our nearby designated meeting point where we touched base before beginning the days work. After discussing our given restoration tasks (weeding, mulching, and watering) we took a short hike through some of the tall invasive cheatgrass surrounding the camp site until we reached our destination, a small plot of land tucked in right next to the local water treatment facility. That first day was HOT (one of the many joys of summer field work in Southern California) so it was amazing to see what good spirits the Wilderness Volunteers were in despite the harsh working conditions. We spent an hour or so weeding some of the invasive grasses and weeds that began to establish in the empty areas of the site. I even got the chance to take a few swings at using a root wrench to pull out the deep tap roots of large established Scotch Broom shrubs (Cytisus scoparius)! Some of those swings were successful and others were less so, but it was a great experience in team building and utilizing different peoples skill sets to achieve a common goal. After weeding there was mulch to be spread in order to prevent new invaders from colonizing the open ground remaining between the native outplants. We spread a LOT of mulch (approximately 8.5 yds3) using wheelbarrows and 5-gallon buckets to transport our precious cargo from the large mulch pile to areas of the site where it would be spread evenly. Throughout this process I could hear the sounds of curious volunteers asking about different native species, noticing a random wildflower, or even a butterfly dancing in the light breeze. At one point we even found a stow away western toad in our mulch pile! I enjoyed watching the ground cover transition from small patches of light brown with grayish-tan sections of open soil to a vast field of rich pine brown dotted with the beautiful light gray-ish green of many of California’s native plants throughout.
Day #2’s restoration site before and after a day spent weeding, mulching, and watering. (Photos by the Wilderness Volunteers)
Day #3
Day #3 with the volunteers was much the same as day #2 as we conducted similar restoration site maintenance at two additional sites around Lake Arrowhead, CA. These sites were bordered with large monocultures of Mountain Whitethorn (Ceanothus cordulatus), a native species which highlighted that not all natives are good for increasing biodiversity. Ceanothus is highly adapted to fire and thrives in disturbed areas with open canopy colonizing these areas and ultimately crowding out any other native shrubs, trees, or herbaceous plants from gaining a foothold post-wildfire. In addition to the ecological war for space waging at its border, this site had another unique challenge due to the plants being out-planted onto a hillside. This made moving mulch and water up to each of the plants a bit more laborious but just as with Day #2’s heat, the volunteers handled the harsh field conditions with a positive spirit that really had a way of rubbing off onto me and lifting my spirits in general. There is nothing like struggling a bit with a team to bring people together! Combining our brains and brawn together we decided the most efficient way of moving heavy buckets full of water and mulch up the hillside would be through forming a human chain and passing buckets from one person to the next so each of us only had to cover a short distance. This technique worked so well we were able to complete these sites and still maintain smiles on all our faces when we posed for a final group photo to commemorate the days work.
Myself (center left), alongside botany tech Jorge Rodriguez (back right), and the Wilderness Volunteers posed in front of newly mounted signage calling attention to the sensitive species we were maintaining at day #3’s restoration site in Lake Arrowhead, CA. (Photo by the Wilderness Volunteers)
The unknowns of new beginnings can be intimidating, however working alongside all the folks at the SBNF as well as the volunteers who generously offered their time and energy for the sake of preserving native habitat truly made me feel welcomed and inspired! In total during my first week I assisted in using 1200 gal of water on outplants, maintaining 1 acre of restoration sites, and transplanting approximately 320 plants in the greenhouse here at the SBNF. None of this work could be completed alone, and I cannot wait for what the rest of this season has in store for myself, and this team!
At a little over three weeks in the Malheur it both feels like I’ve been working here for years, and like I have no idea what I’m doing. We hit the ground running on our first day compiling data on our target species and have since been out in the field scouting nonstop. We’re looking for a series of grasses and forbs in the forest with large enough populations to collect seeds from for future restoration projects. Our primary focus this season is riparian species, so we’ve been searching through wet meadows, streambanks, and springs. As you can imagine, the mosquitos have been insufferable and seem to have a special affinity for my blood. Yet, we persevere!
I’ve never lived in a town as small as John Day, and within my first 4 hours in the area, a man who called himself ‘the candyman’ gave me free fudge (creepy? maybe! But it was good fudge), four deer ran past me and crossed the street at the crosswalk, and at least six deer were laying around in our front yard. This may seem commonplace to those of you who grew up in smaller towns, but as someone who has only lived in cities, I was pretty pumped. If I didn’t know about the issues with habituation, they would be my buddies by now.
Pictured: A doe taking in the shade of our bunkhouse on the day I arrived.
We’ve had several run-ins with animals in the field. On our second day, we helped with a bumblebee survey and a bold little chipmunk posed for us for our entire lunch break. One week in, we accidentally herded a group of humongous cows for at least two miles because they couldn’t figure out how to move to the side of the road. While scouting in the Murderer’s Creek area, Ivy and I encountered wild horses. I knew they existed in the area from a little anecdote about them on one of our maps, but it was completely different seeing them in person. I’d never seen a group of horses all the same color together, and it was hard to believe they were real.
Pictured: Sleepy bumblebee waking up from the ice bath we put her in after collecting her in the field. No bumblebees were harmed in the implementation of this survey!Pictured: One of many poses from aforementioned attention-seeking chipmunk.Pictured: Murderer’s creek wild horses.
In real news, our first few weeks have been very productive. We’ve identified over 75 populations of our target species, taken over 30 vouchers of suitable populations for collection, and started our first seed collection. An hour of collecting from a population of Ranunculus occidentalis yesterday gave us about 10g of seed. While this is a long way away from the nursery’s aim of 500g (a loooong way away), it’s a start!
Pictured: Ranunculus occidentalis seeds collected on July 1st.Pictured: Ivy looking through our initial Ranunculus collection.Pictured: Scouting points dropped as of 7/1.
